


you come across brighter

by deerie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banshee Lydia Martin, Canon Het Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, College, Detectives, Established Relationship, F/M, First Kiss, Friendship, Future Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Team Human, Teen Wolf Big Bang, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerie/pseuds/deerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh my God, Allison,” Stiles whispers. “I have the best idea!”</p><p>“What is it?” she asks him.</p><p>“We should be detectives! Like, for real detectives. We could totally do it – you with your badassness and me with my, I don’t know, <i>investigative</i> skills. We could even do supernatural cases, Allison, we are totally qualified for that!” -- Now with artwork, so make sure you check it out!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	you come across brighter

**Author's Note:**

> Holy smokes, you guys - ha ha _ha_. What. I've never written anything this long for a fandom before. How do all you guys do this all the time? You have to have, like, plot! and stuff! and it has to work coherently!
> 
> I have a long list of people who I need to thank, because without their support this legitimately would not have happened: [erraticonstilts](http://erraticonstilts.tumblr.com), who instigates a significant percent of what I write; [honeybearbee](http://honeybearbee.tumblr.com), who held my hand and guided me through freak outs and looked over the story for me; [cieleezy](http://cieleezy.tumblr.com), who kicks my ass and makes me write better; [clumsykisses](http://clumsykisses.tumblr.com), who made sure there were no glaring grammar errors; and [ordinaryink](http://ordinaryink.tumblr.com), who is my artist and is seriously the best to put up with my erratic writing habits. What are deadlines, anyway? To everyone who encouraged me - there are way too many of you to count, but _thank you_. There were a couple of times where I wanted to give up on this thing, but being held accountable really helped me keep going.
> 
> I would also like to thank season 3A - you were a tiny bit terrible, but you gave me so much stuff that fixed so, so many plot holes in this piece.
> 
> This fic is totally dedicated to [crysticify](http://crysticify.tumblr.com). I may have to drag you kicking and screaming into this fandom, but - by golly - I'm going to do it. 
> 
> The title of the fic comes from a song by Patrick Stump called "Porcelain." However, I feel like you should know that the draft of this fic was - for a significantly longer time than I should probably admit - titled "oh god what am i doing."
> 
> I hope you enjoy the fic! Go check out the [awesome artwork](http://ordinaryink.livejournal.com/67284.html)!

*

Stiles has no idea whose party this is. He’s standing in someone’s kitchen and he’s holding a can of PBR in his hand, though, so he bets it’s someone from one of Allison’s classes. If he had to make an educated guess, he’d bet on someone from her literature class.

He nurses his beer in the empty kitchen and absently decides he’s going to go find someone he knows when – speak of the devil – Allison wanders into the room.

Her face breaks out into a smile and she says, “I was wondering where you disappeared to!”

Stiles meanders over and stands next to her. The heels she’s wearing almost put them at eye level. Allison catches him around the shoulders when he invariably stumbles over his own feet. “How much have you had to drink, Stiles?”

She looks down in derision at the cheap beer clutched in his hands and says, “I hope you didn’t get drunk drinking this.”

Stiles leans into her warm side and slurs, “No, I totally pregamed.”

“With _what_?” Allison asks, voice kicking up half an octave. “You’re not going to be sick, are you?”

Stiles winces and wow, he might be slightly drunker than he anticipated.

He shakes his head, half to answer her question and half to dispel the fuzziness in his head. “No no _no_ , liquor before beer, never fear. Duh, Allison.”

“Don’t get sassy with me,” she says with a saucy grin. “That’s not nice. And it’s beer before liquor, never sicker.”

Stiles waves his beer in the air before he takes a big gulp. “That means the same thing.”

Allison doesn’t bother correcting him. She just slips the can out of his grip and takes her own pull from the can, finishing it.

“Hey,” Stiles starts, like he’s offended, but follows it instead with, “Hey, isn’t this your friend’s class? I mean, party. Isn’t this your friend’s party?”

Allison nods as she crumples the can around the middle and throws it into the recycling bin. “Yeah, this is Jessica’s house. She’s in my literature class.”

Stiles pumps his fist in the air. “I knew it! Ugh, Allison, why am I not a detective? My talents are obviously being wasted here.”

Allison turns her head and smiles at him. For one long second, Stiles gets lost smiling back at her. She’s such a good friend. Scott got really lucky when he met her. Allison is so awesome. Her talents are probably also being wasted – “Oh my God, Allison!” Stiles yells. “I have the best idea!”

Allison pats his cheek and shushes him. “Inside voice.”

“Oh my God, Allison,” Stiles whispers. “I have the best idea!”

“What is it?” she asks him.

“We should be detectives! Like, for real detectives. We could totally do it – you with your badassness and me with my, I don’t know, _investigative_ skills. We could even do supernatural cases, Allison, we are totally qualified for that!”

He bounces on the balls of his feet.

Allison loops her arm with Stiles’ and hums under her breath. Stiles doesn’t feel like she’s just humoring him. This kind of feels like serious consideration, but then again, Stiles is drunk. What does he know?

He’s a little surprised when she eventually says, “We could call it the Argent-Stilinski Detective Agency.”

“ _No_ ,” Stiles emphatically slurs. “It should be Stilinski-Argent. That sounds way better. And it’s not even because I want to be on top! I mean, first. Not even because I want to be first.”

Allison’s about to call him out on being inappropriate. Stiles can totally tell by the quirk of her frown. Scott chooses that exact moment to burst into the kitchen and say, “Whoa, whoa, Stiles. Are you hitting on my lady friend? Because we’re brothers, always, but we’re never going to be that cool.”

“No. Double no. Infinity no,” Stiles backpedals away from Allison and totally does not stumble over the island in the middle of the kitchen. He’s totally proud of himself.

Scott grins easily and accepts his response. “Alright, man. Cool.”

“Cool,” Stiles repeats the word under his breath a couple of times.

Scott isn’t even drunk – damn werewolf metabolism – but his smile crawls slowly across his face as if he actually were. “Hey, so they just brought in a keg. You should totally do a keg stand. I think that would be an awesome decision.”

Stiles decides to shelve his burgeoning detective plan and flails toward the doorway back into the living room. That’s totally where all the other people at this party have been hiding this whole time! “Alright, Scottie, let’s do this!”

Oh God, he’s going to have the _worst_ hangover tomorrow.

 

Stiles looks down at the list he made earlier in the week and decides that his best bet for studying is probably to start by balancing a few equations. Forget the hangover from hell last week, this one is ten times worse. It’s totally the worst hangover in existence ever, but he pulls some problems from the text to practice anyway. He’s pretty good at these, but he figures he always needs practice and these make a good transition point to ease into some of the harder concepts.

He’s just finishing plugging in coefficients when he hears a light knock on his door.

“Come in,” he says, voice raised just slightly and eyes firmly on his work. He writes in a ‘2’ and then spins in his chair, confident he’s at a good stopping place. “Allison!”

“Like it would be anyone else,” she teases.

“Coulda been Derek,” he says, just to be difficult.

“Please, like Derek even bothers knocking.”

Stiles concedes with a nod. Derek may be a real boy now, but he still fails to grasp certain social niceties. Stiles thinks he may just be willfully obtuse at this point.

Allison steps up next to him and drops a box on top of his notes. She leans a hip against his desk and gestures down at the box with a shrug of her shoulder.

Stiles looks down at the box and then back up at Allison. He reaches his hands out to feel for the edges of the box as he asks, “What is this?”

Allison grins at him, cheeks dimpled, and says, “Just open it.”

He pulls at the tape with a nail until it tears under his fingers and then he lifts the top of the box gently. Inside the box are hundreds of – “Business cards?”

Allison nods and gently says, “Look at them, Stiles.”

Stiles sets the box down on his desk and pulls out one of the cards. It’s a deep blue color, like the night sky, with a crescent moon in the middle of the card. There are a few dots scattered around the card, like stars, and across the card in an elegant silver script are the words _Stilinski-Argent Detective Agency_. A phone number he doesn’t recognize sits under the name, block letters prim, and beneath that, an email address.

“What?” he asks, slightly awed because he could never imagine in a million years that what he said to Allison at a party the week before would take root with her.

“You were right,” she says, “ _Stilinski-Argent_ sounds a lot better than _Argent-Stilinski_.”

Stiles stands up from his chair and gathers Allison up in his arms and he isn’t really sure what to say, so he just says, “Marry me.”

Allison hugs him back tightly and laughs before saying, “I think Scott would have something to say about that.” She pulls back and catches his eyes and asks, “Are you sure you want to do this with me?”

Stiles has never been more sure of anything in his entire life. “Yes,” he says. “Allison, please be my business partner.”

She nods sharply once.

“Great,” he says, under his breath, mouth stretching into a smile. “We’re going to be awesome, Allison.”

“I want to take you to see the place I found.”

“Now?” Stiles asks, surprised. “How have you already found a place? I told you about this a week ago, _drunk_.”

“I’ve got connections, Stilinski.”

“You’re a very frightening woman, Argent.”

 

The building Allison brings him to looks like a particularly strong gust of wind could topple it. That’s totally saying something too, because the building’s obviously made of brick and steel so it should theoretically be safe.

It just doesn’t look like it is.

On the plus side, it’s close to their apartment. Unfortunately, that’s about all he can list in the pro column.

Stiles doesn’t say it out loud, but he thinks that the old Hale house would probably be a better place to set up shop, and the old Hale house doesn’t even actually exist anymore.

His disbelief must show on his face because soon Allison is holding up her hands to placate him. “It’s better on the inside.”

“That is not filling me with a lot of confidence,” Stiles tells her truthfully.

“We’re going to have to do some minor work on it anyway. We can fix up the front when we ward the place.”

Allison makes things sound so easy.

No, it's not just that - Allison just makes things happen. She's never been one for waiting when she knows there's something to be done.

Stiles had this dumb idea and Allison breathed life into it and made it possible. He can believe in it if she's the one helping him.

He should probably just trust that she knows what she's doing. Stiles tells her as much.

"That's a good attitude to have," she says. She pulls a key out of her pocket and unlocks the door. "So in the interest of full disclosure, I already signed the lease."

Stiles laughs and lets her tug him in through the glass doors. The inside of the building is marginally better. He wonders what this place used to be, because there’s a long wooden bar running through the room and a tiled area that looks like it used to be a waiting area. It almost looks like it used to be a dive bar.

Allison waves to the tiled area and says, “I was thinking that that could be a waiting room.” She points to the bar, “Front desk.”

Stiles nods and runs his hands along the bar. If feels sturdy, if a bit dusty, beneath his hands and he has the brief thought that it’s a good sign. There’s a door at the back of the room and he points to it. “What’s through there?”

Allison gestures for him to follow her. “There are four rooms back here. They’re already partitioned off and everything. I think this used to be a tattoo parlor? We can each have a room for an office.”

She points to the two rooms on the left side of the short hallway. When she points to the rooms on the right, she says, “I was thinking one of these could be a small library if we put up shelves and the other could be storage.”

“You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?” Stiles asks, slightly awed.

Stiles swings his head back to look at her and finds himself surprised when he catches the uncertainty splashed across her face. “I just want everything to be good. I really want this to work out.”

“Hey, hey,” he says, reaching out a hand to grab around her wrist. “Pretty sure everything you do is awesome.”

Allison shakes her head. “I think we’re both pretty aware that’s not true.”

And wow, okay, that’s a really bad road to go down. Stiles is pretty sure everyone made some pretty terrible decisions in high school. No, scratch that, he knows for certain they all did. And if he knows anything, he knows that going back and looking at the choices they made in the past is one of the worst things any of them could ever do.

Stiles doesn’t even bother to rise to the bait, even though he knows that’s what she’s aiming for. Instead, he says, “This is going to be really good, Allison. I know it is. I have an eye for these types of things, you know.”

She doesn’t say anything in response, but she leans into his side and Stiles thinks maybe she gets it.

 

Stiles can’t just let Allison do all the work. Never mind that it would be incredibly lazy on his part, but Stiles wants to be able to say that he helped get this project off the ground too. So Stiles calls the two people outside of Chris Argent who can help them do what they mean to – his dad and Deaton.

He calls his dad after his chemistry test – he’s pretty sure he aced it – and is mildly surprised when his dad actually picks up, considering it’s the middle of the day.

“Stilinski,” he answers.

“Hey, Daddy-o!” Stiles crows down the phone line, still running on post-test adrenaline.

“Stiles, hey! How did your test go?”

Stiles squints at his feet and asks, “How did you know I had a test?”

He wonders if his dad is psychic, because that would make a lot of sense and explain so much about his senior year of high school.

His dad laughs on the other end of the line. “I think Derek must have mentioned it when he called.”

Stiles still thinks it’s weird that his dad and Derek talk, apparently on the regular and apparently about _him_. “I think I did pretty well on it.”

“Good job, son. Now, I know that’s not what you called me about, so spill it.”

“Well,” Stiles drawls out. “I need to run something by you. Nothing bad!”

“Uh huh. I’m going to need more information ‘it’s not bad’.”

“Surprise, Allison and I are opening up a supernatural detective agency.” Stiles says in one long rush, then pauses and cocks his head even though his dad can’t see him. “We’re going to stay enrolled in school, but we’re going to do this too.”

It’s quiet on his dad’s side. “I’m actually not as surprised by this as I probably should be,” his dad finally says.

“Does that mean you’re okay with it?”

His dad is once again quiet on the other end of the line and Stiles worries for one long moment. All his dad says is, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, if you’re sure about it, I’ll support whatever decision you make.”

“Aw, Pops, you’re the best.” Stiles smiles even though his dad can’t see him. “Do you think you could come next Saturday and give us a human hand?”

“What do you mean by _human_ hand?” His dad asks. “Have you told the pack about this yet?”

“Actually, you’re pretty much the first person I’ve told.”

“ _Stiles_.” His dad sounds aggravated with him. That’s totally uncalled for, whoa.

“I’m going to tell them. Allison and I - we’re just waiting for the best time.”

“You need to tell them as soon as possible. How would you feel if they kept something this big from you?”

“I know, Dad. Don’t worry about it. And we only need human hands because we’re going to ward the sh- _crap_ out of the office and the ‘wolves can’t be there for that.”

“The office, kid. I was pretty sure I’d never see the day where you had an office.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence there, Dad.”

“You know what I mean.” His dad heaves a great sigh. “I’ll call Melissa and we’ll make a day of it.”

“Hey, Dad, thanks.” Stiles trails off. His dad really is the best dad ever.

“I’m proud of you, Stiles. Don’t forget that.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

“I’ve got to go now, we’ve got a case.”

“Bye, old man. Go catch some bad guys.”

Seriously - best dad ever.

He hangs up and calls Deaton immediately after. Deaton answers after the third or fourth ring. “Beacon Hills Animal Clinic, Deaton speaking.”

“Deaton, my man!”

There’s a pause where Stiles is pretty sure that Deaton is pinching the bridge of his nose. Deaton is surprisingly easy to read over the phone. It probably helps that Stiles doesn’t actually have to see him smugly smirk as he doles out tiny bites of information.

Stiles grins.

“Mr. Stilinski, hello. What can I help you with today?”

Stiles makes a face. Ew, he’s never going to get used to being called that. “I was actually calling to ask you if you could help me out with something. We can work out a deal or something. As long as this conversation doesn’t make it back to any ‘wolves we know.”

“I see. What do you need?”

“Well, Allison and I have a building that we need warded. We also need to get our hands on some mountain ash. And a price estimate.”

“May I ask what this is for?”

Stiles gathers his thoughts. They’re spiraling off in a million different directions. It’s kind of annoying. “I mean as long as none of this gets back to the pack yet, we’re good. It’s not anything bad, but we want to be able to tell them on our own time. Allison and I are opening a detective agency. For, you know, the supernatural side of things.”

Deaton hums lightly under his breath. “Okay, when do you need these things?”

“We’re aiming for next Saturday, but we understand if this is too short of a notice. We’ll go with as soon as possible.”

“Do you still have my email?” Deaton asks.

“Yep,” Stiles replies, popping the ‘p’.

“Send me a list of the dimensions of the space you want to ward and any significant structural issues. There won’t be a price but I do want a favor from each of you that I can take you up on in the future.”

Favors, huh. Interesting. “Let me talk to Allison and I’ll let you know when I email you.”

“That sounds fine, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Stilinski.”

A click lets Stiles know that Deaton is finished with the conversation. Well, that went a lot better than he thought it was going to go. Stiles manages to manfully resist the urge to whoop and shoves the phone into his front pocket. _Awesome._

 

“Allison, you here?” Stiles calls out into their apartment.

There’s a clatter in the kitchen and the sound of her swearing. “I’m here,” she calls back.

Stiles shuffles through the living room, dropping things in their places as he goes, and steps into the kitchen. “I just called my dad and Deaton. Dad says he and Melissa will come up on Saturday and Deaton says he can get the stuff we need to ward the building.”

Stiles drops into a seat at their tiny kitchen table and watches as she mixes something in a bowl.

“Cookies?” He asks hopefully.

She nods and says, “Dad’s coming on Saturday too, so that should be enough help to get the place into shape. Did Deaton say how much it’s going to end up costing?”

Stiles’ mouth turns down at the corners. “He said he’ll do it for a favor from each of us.”

Allison hums briefly and says, “Any idea what sort of favors he’s going to ask from us?”

“Not a clue. It’s Deaton, I never know where I stand with the guy. You’re not as wary as I thought you’d be about this.”

Allison begins scooping cookie dough onto a baking sheet. “It happens a lot in the hunter community, so I guess I’m more familiar with it? Someone helps you with a hunt and then it’s assumed that you’ll help them the next time they need something. You have a weapon someone needs? They’ll return the favor the next time you need something.”

“Ah,” Stiles says.

“I’m good with it if you are. Is the idea rubbing you the wrong way?”

“If you’re cool with it, I’m cool with it.”

Allison holds out the mixing bowl to him, keeping the spoon for herself. “Cool.”

Stiles digs a finger down into the gooey dough still left in the bowl and shoves it into his mouth.

“Don’t eat them all when they come out of the oven,” she says. “Melissa said she’s going to be sending a care package to Isaac soon, so I promised I would run interference with Scott.”

Stiles snickers, forever amused with the fact that Melissa sends Isaac care packages but doesn’t send them to Scott.

He digs his finger down into the bowl again. As far as he’s concerned, he’s living the good life.

 

The week passes in a blur. Stiles isn’t sure he could tell you what happened or what he learned in his classes. All he knows is now it’s Saturday and he’s standing in the front room of their newly outfitted office.

Melissa and his dad have gone to pick up lunch for everyone. Allison and her dad are busy weaponizing the storage room. Stiles almost wishes he was kidding. According to Chris, if they were going to magically ward the office, they might as well have things that could actually protect them in there too. For a guy who hunts supernatural creatures, Chris Argent sure does not believe in magic.

Or, maybe being in a world steeped with magic isn’t enough to smack the paranoid out of him.

Deaton carves a few runes onto the side of the bar - a protection rune here, a rune he explained was for good will there - and presses his hand against them.

Stiles isn’t sure how he’s able to infuse good feelings into the runes while they have an argument, but here they are.

“I’m not magic,” Stiles states, once again. Maybe the more he repeats it, the more meaning he gives it. Because according to Deaton, that’s how magic works. Right.

“No,” Deaton says, “you’re not. But will is something strong all on its own.”

“So, what are you saying?” Stiles gestures wildly around the front of their new building. “I can _will_ protection onto people? Because that information would have really been helpful in high school, man.”

Deaton finishes the protective rune he’s been carving into the doorway at the front of the office. He runs a hand over it and closes his eyes. When he’s done, he looks over at Stiles and says, “Yes, exactly. You’re in a unique position, Mr. Stilinski. No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do. That’s your will and your belief. Those two things can be very powerful.”

Deaton stands up and motions for Stiles to come to him. “You’re going to have to refresh these runes about once a month. Just put your hand over it like I did and _believe_ that nothing can harm anyone in this building.”

“Right, so this is totally Caritas. Gotcha.”

Deaton looks at him for one very long minute. Stiles squirms under his gaze. Finally, he says, sighing minutely, “Indeed.”

Stiles mentally high fives himself for the fact that Deaton totally recognizes his reference. Outwardly, he reins himself into a grin and says, “Okay, I can totally do that.”

Deaton raises an eyebrow and says, “Do it, then.”

“Oh, you mean right now?” Stiles makes a little ‘ah!’ noise under his breath and shuffles closer. He reaches up and touches two of his fingers to the mark and is surprised to feel it warm under his fingertips. Stiles bites his lip and closes his eyes and _believes_. No one can come inside the Stilinski-Argent Detective Agency who means anyone or anything inside it harm. Nothing will happen inside to the detriment of any who seek shelter between its walls. This building means protection and Stiles _wills_ it into being. Rinse, repeat.

Stiles comes back to himself all at once, sucking in air quickly and eyes flying open. The rune under his fingers has gotten hotter, if that’s even possible. He pulls away slowly and looks over at Deaton. “Did it work?”

Deaton stares intently at him and Stiles can’t quite determine what sort of look it is. “It would seem so,” Deaton eventually replies.

Stiles grins, “Cool.”

“Is there anything else you need before I leave, Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles scrunches up his face at the title but shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so – wait.”

“Yes, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Seriously, you have got to stop calling me that,” Stiles says before he can help himself. “No, wait. Eventually the aim is to start taking on cases of the supernatural variety. But it’s not like we can advertise – ‘got fangs? Have wings? Need a P.I.? Well, you’re in luck! – and there’s only so far word of mouth travels.”

Deaton’s eyes twinkle. “I think you’ll find word of mouth travels further than you think it does. You’re connected to a pack that is talked about more often than you think. ”

“Yeah, that super does not make me feel better, Doc.”

“I know,” Deaton says. “I thought not. However, I think this is one of those situations where your belief will help you.”

Stiles ponders this for a moment. He eventually says, “Wait, are you seriously telling me to ‘will it and they will come’ right now?”

“In a manner of speaking. You need something that will travel widely so you can imbue it with your belief and your will,” Deaton begins to pack up his things. “If you don’t mind pardoning the pun, whatever you choose will call out like a beacon to those who need your help.”

The gears are working furiously in his head as Deaton gets ready to leave. He has a small idea, but he has no idea if it would work. “So, when you say ‘travel widely’ – do you think business cards would work? Would it need any rune work?”

“Do you have an example of the card?” Deaton asks.

Stiles scrambles to pull one out of his wallet. An amused chuckle falls out of Deaton’s mouth when he sees the blue card and he says, “No, I don’t think this will need any rune work at all. Who chose the moon?”

“Allison did,” Stiles says.

“She did a good job picking something important to all of you. The moon will work as a sigil and you can fill it with your power, I believe.”

“I’m not magic,” Stiles repeats, catching Deaton’s slip up.

“Right,” Deaton says, that damn twinkle back in his eye. “It was good seeing you, Mr. Stilinski. Call me if you need anything, but please don’t call too often.”

Deaton makes it all the way to the door before he turns around and says, “And Stiles? I distinctly remember telling you about the spark when you were in high school.”

He’s gone before Stiles can reply.

Seriously, Deaton is such a _dick_.

 

Derek and Scott frown. In fact, Stiles might be inclined to say that they have matching frowns. Stiles frowns too. He’s not about to be left out of the frowning that’s going on right now and seriously, this isn’t going the way that he thought it would. This is a straight up disaster.

The rest of the pack sits around the dining room table, because it’s pack dinner night. It’s one of three nights of the month where everyone in the pack is in one place - in this case, the betas’ house - and they can sit down and share a meal and bask in the togetherness of the pack. Stiles totally digs pack dinner nights.

Allison doesn’t frown, but her arms cross in front of her chest and she stares the two alphas down. “We’re not asking for permission.”

Yeah, whoa, Stiles can recognize that what she just said? Totally the wrong thing to say. Stiles discreetly kicks Allison under the table. Or it would have been discreetly if he didn’t happen to be sharing a dinner table with mostly werewolves.

Derek shoots Stiles the flattest, most unamused glare Stiles has ever seen him make. It’s actually kind of impressive.

Stiles has to act quick if he wants to diffuse the situation. A situation they totally could have avoided if Allison hadn’t escalated things to the next level so quickly. Seriously, this ‘shoot first, ask questions’ later thing the pack has going on is doing no one any favors.

“Okay, no, stop!” Stiles interjects. “This is not going according to plan.”

“You had a plan?” Derek asks, eyebrow raised.

Scott rolls his eyes. “It’s Stiles. Of course he had a plan.”

Stiles totally hates it when both alphas team up against him. Not fair.

The plan in question was that they would sit down for their pack dinner, have a lovely meal, and Stiles and Allison would calmly reveal to the pack that the two of them were teaming up and starting a business - starting a detective agency. It would go well. Everyone would be excited for them.

Obviously, real life does not always conform to Stiles’ plans. It’s most irritating.

Cora, seemingly oblivious to what’s going on around her, asks Allison, “When do we get to see the place?”

The wicked smile across her face says she just likes to stir the pot. Stiles is totally onto her.

“I’ve got your number,” Stiles says, pointing to her face. She snaps her teeth playfully in response. He wags his finger at her before looking at the rest of the group.

Stiles looks around at all of them - his pack - around the table: Allison, Lydia, Boyd and Cora around one curved edge and Danny, Isaac, Scott and Derek around the other side. They’ve come a long way from where they started out.

Derek’s brow furrows. His scowl hasn’t lessened any and he looks like the guy Stiles and Scott met in the woods that first fateful time. Stiles hadn’t backed down then and he wasn’t going to back down now.

Stiles knows that he and Allison can do this. He feels it down deep in his bones. They can do this and they can be good at this. There are only two things in this world that he believes in more: his dad and his pack.

Stiles bites at his lip and stays quiet for one more long moment. Finally, “We want to help people. We want to use what we’ve learned over the years and help people who might not get help any other way.”

He looks over at Allison and she reaches over to squeeze around his wrist. She says, “Nus protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-même.”

The words ring. _We protect those who can’t protect themselves_.

Scott sits down. He looks between Stiles and Allison and finally sighs. “If you’re sure it’s what you want, I’m not going to stop you. I just want you guys to be safe, you know? You’re both really important to me.” He pulls out the big guns, “Can’t you guys see where I’m coming from?”

Those words coupled with his hang-dog expression and wow, it’s a doozie. “Dammit, Scottie,” Stiles says. “We’re sure, dude.”

Stiles shrugs. He looks across the table and catches Derek’s eyes. “Like Allison said, though, we’re not really looking for permission. But it would be really nice to have our pack behind us.”

Derek nods, just once. Stiles lets go of the breath he was holding in. He ducks his head and grins, “Awesome.”

 

*

 

_six months later_

Stiles shoots awake when a hand comes down on his shoulder and someone’s voice says his name.

He sits up straight so quickly that his computer chair spins to face the intruder. Stiles lets out a big sigh of relief when he sees who it is. “Derek. Way to scare a guy.”

Stiles peels his history notes off his face – oh, and _ew_ , he thinks they must have been stuck to his face with his own drool. He may have sunk to a new level. There may be level-sinking going on here. Stiles makes a face as he sets the papers down with his other notes and turns to face Derek again. “Hey,” he says.

Derek looks at him for a moment – _sighs_ , like his entire life is hard – before saying, “You have ink on your face.”

Stiles thinks Derek is judging him. Derek can shove it. Derek doesn’t have a huge history exam coming up.

Stiles looks around and tries to locate the wet wipes he knows are around his desk somewhere. “Can you, uh – wet wipes. They smell like eucalyptus.”

Derek’s stare goes flat and he says, “I am not your sniffer dog.” He follows that up almost immediately with, “What does eucalyptus even _smell_ like?”

A handful of seconds later, however, the pack of wet wipes smacks Stiles in the middle of his chest and he cheers. “Thanks, man,” he says as he scrubs the ink from his skin.

He looks up at Derek and quirks his eyebrow and Derek nods at his newly clean face.

“So when did you get into town?” Stiles asks.

Derek shrugs. “Just now.”

A warmth starts to fill Stiles’ chest. “Oh,” he says, pleased. “Cool.”

Derek moves toward the door and says, “Put on some clothes. We’re going out.”

Stiles casts his gaze back over to his desk. It’s covered in history notes and he really should be studying if he wants to have any sort of chance of passing this test. Stiles lists in his chair, weighing his options.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Derek roll his eyes. That’s not very nice. “Come on,” Derek says. “You’re going to burn out if you keep on like this. Take a break, we’ll go get coffee or something.”

Coffee does sound good. And a break would be nice. He rolls his options around in his head for a moment before standing up and hissing at the pins and needles in his foot. Stiles looks at the pile of clothes on his bed and starts to sort through them.

Derek huffs beside him. “ _Clean_ clothes, Stiles.” He pushes Stiles over to the closet and says, “If you’re not ready in ten minutes, I’m leaving you here.”

Stiles widens his eyes sarcastically in Derek’s direction and mutters, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

When Stiles finally makes it out to the living room, Allison and Derek are speaking in low voices. Allison perches on the arm of the couch and Stiles comes over to stand next to Derek.

“Are you coming with us?” Stiles asks, surprised.

Allison shakes her head. “Unlike you, I take regular breaks when studying. Anyway, I’m meeting Lydia for brunch at that bistro she likes.”

Stiles nods. “Tell her I said ‘hey’, would you?”

“Sure thing! You two have fun.” She winks and then says to Derek, “Caffeinate him, but don’t caffeinate him too much. I’m the one who has to live with him.”

Stiles would protest but Derek’s huffing a laugh and nodding. It’s taken a long time and a lot of work to get Allison and Derek to a place where they can joke around like this, but Stiles is glad that Allison has a place in the pack now. Hell, Stiles is glad that _he_ has a place in the pack.

“Come on, growly-pants, to coffee!” Stiles crows as he heads for the door.

Derek audibly sighs but follows, albeit at a more sedate pace.

 

Derek pays for his coffee. Stiles bumps their elbows together and says playfully, “I coulda paid for that.”

Derek bumps him back and deadpans, “It’s my duty as Alpha to make sure you don’t die.”

Stiles cackles and says, “You are so full of shit.”

There’s a twinkle in Derek’s eye when their order is called. They make their way to a couple of comfy armchairs in the back of the café. Stiles pulls one of his legs up underneath himself and takes a sip of his black coffee. It’s really good – just what he needed. He extends his other foot and gently kicks Derek in the shin. “Thanks, dude.”

Derek nods and doesn’t say anything about Stiles kicking him or calling him ‘dude’, which Stiles counts as a point in the win column. Derek’s drinking something cold with whipped cream and Stiles will never be able to get over the hilarity of watching Derek drink anything with whipped cream.

Eventually, Stiles asks, “How long are you in town?”

“Just the next couple of days. I’ve got to get back to Beacon Hills pretty soon.”

“Isaac said you told him it’s been pretty quiet there lately.”

The unasked question of whether anything is wrong back home lingers in the air between them.

Derek just shrugs. “Nothing big is going on. There are a few nymphs in the woods around where the house used to be, but I don’t think they’re going to cause any trouble. I think they just want somewhere to call home.”

Stiles hums under his breath and takes another sip. “It’s good to have stuff in the forest.”

Derek raises an eyebrow and says, “Stuff?”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

Derek nods absently and picks at the paper sleeve around his drink. “Two witches passed through town last week, but they just wanted to talk to Deaton. Everything’s been pretty quiet lately.”

Stiles smiles gently. “That’s good, Derek.”

A grin crosses Derek’s face. “We’re doing dinner at the house day after tomorrow. You gonna be free?”

“We’ve got a couple of appointments, but they’re earlier in the day.” With a little bit of suspicion coloring his words, Stiles asks, “Who’s cooking?”

It’s not like it isn’t a completely valid question to ask. Once Scott and Isaac were in charge of cooking and it didn’t turn out too well. He’s never witnessed spaghetti go so wrong before. Stiles is pretty sure they’re never going to get the deposit back from the landlord. That night, Lydia ended up ordering takeout from a local Thai place. Stiles doesn’t even _like_ Thai food.

“Who do you think?” Derek asks. “Boyd.”

Stiles cheers internally, but if Derek’s huffing laughter is anything to go by, his joy is plastered all over his face as well.

“So how is business going?”

“It’s, you know, business-y,” Stiles smirks.

Derek’s bitch-please face is totally worth it.

“We just finished up a cheating husband case.” Stiles grimaces - it was not fun in the least. “Deaton said he’s going to send a hedge witch our way sometime in the next couple of days. We’ve definitely got two appointments tomorrow, one with a group of witches and the other with a disgruntled satyr.”

Derek shudders at the mention of the satyr.

Stiles just laughs. “Not all satyrs are like the ones that invaded the woods back home, Derek.”

“Still,” Derek protests, and Stiles is sure it’s just for the sake of argument. The satyrs two years ago weren’t even that bad, but Derek walked in on something with a satyr, a jar of chocolate body sauce, and a couple of his betas. It had not been a good day for Derek’s sanity.

It had been a glorious day for Stiles. So many joke opportunities, so little time. Stiles smiles fondly at the memory.

Derek lobs a napkin at him. “You feel refreshed yet?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Stiles says.

Derek drops Stiles off at his apartment after their coffee break and leaves for the Beta House, as the betas and Scott have oh-so-lovingly named it, and Stiles once again finds himself staring down at his history notes.

He decides to take a nap instead.

When he wakes up, the soft morning light filters in through the window.

 

“Uh, excuse me?”

Lydia huffs and looks up from the computer and in the direction of the impatient voice. A woman has her arms crossed in front of the bar and annoyance is coming off of her in waves.

Lydia wishes she hadn’t been interrupted. She’s translating these last few pages of a bestiary recently given to Allison as payment on a case. She’s been doing this for the past forty-five minutes. She’s unhappy, to say the least. These translations aren’t going to upload themselves to Danny’s database.

She pastes on a smile, however, and cocks her head toward the group of three waiting on their appointment. “Yes?”

“How much longer is this going to take?” The woman asks, voice gruff. “We’ve been here for an hour. Can we get some coffee or something?”

Lydia blinks once. This is what they interrupted her for? Stiles is in his office talking to another client and whatever she may be, she is not a receptionist. She taps her pen against the top of the bar and says, “There’s this great little coffee shop down the block if you’re thirsty.”

She smiles serenely as the woman bites off a huff and slams back down into the seat between her two companions. One of the men rolls his eyes and checks his watch. The other might be asleep, but Lydia doesn’t really care.

She turns back and looks down at the bestiary in front of her. They received the bestiary from a couple of witches who say they got it from hunters – and really, it must have been hunters who went above and beyond the normal hunter paranoia, because the book is a mishmash of archaic and classical Latin and what’s she’s pretty sure is German. She’s got a handle on the Latin, of course, but she’s a little rusty on German. It probably doesn’t matter that she doesn’t have a firm grasp on German, because whoever hand wrote this bestiary didn’t seem to have rhyme nor reason for any traditional language rules and often sentences started out in Latin only to switch to German in the middle for no apparent reason and then back again to Latin.

Well, of course it was done that way to keep outsiders from reading it, but Lydia Martin wasn’t just anyone.

The first forty or so pages were the most difficult to decipher in any case and after she found the pattern the author didn’t realize he was making, things went much smoother.

A lot of what she usually translates can be so boring, but this stuff actually interesting for once. The bestiary talks about ‘the spark,’ which she’s heard about before. As far as she can gather, the spark is what makes magic work. She wonders if she could spin this into a scientific experiment.

No, wait - she and Stiles, with an assist from Dr. Deaton - have already experimented enough with her powers to realize that any magic cast in her direct presence cancels out. When Lydia first came into her banshee powers, that night at the school where Jennifer Blake nearly killed her, that wasn’t the case. As her powers matured and she learned to control them, however, it became increasingly obvious that she couldn’t be in the same vicinity as any spells being cast.

Still, she’ll mention it to Stiles later. A deeper look into whatever this spark thing is couldn’t hurt.

Angry whispers filter up to the front desk from the waiting room, but she doesn’t bother to eavesdrop. Stiles and Deaton have this place warded up ridiculously well. She’s not worried about it.

Twenty minutes later, Stiles nearly trips back into the front room. The client - a young hedge witch by the name of Moore, Lydia has gathered – laughs at him and Stiles shoots her an embarrassed grin.

She looks like she just graduated from college. There’s a look, Lydia thinks, that one gets after college that means sleep is on the horizon. Whether or not that’s true, she looks a lot nicer than the group loitering in the waiting area.

“I’ll call you,” he says, “as soon as we know more.”

“I really appreciate you looking into this for me,” she says, “especially since I can’t pay you, um, traditionally?”

Stiles reaches out to shake hands with her. “You can pay us in either spell work or favors, that’s not a problem.”

She grins and nods and tells him goodbye – “Thank you, again.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, as she disappears out of the door.

Stiles walks over to Lydia and leans over her shoulder, trying to sneak a peek at what she’s doing. She nudges him back a little bit and spins in her chair to face him.

“I’ve got a few pages left.” She hooks a thumb back toward the three people waiting across the room. “Your twelve o’clock is here and impatient.”

Stiles scratches the back of his head and says, “Yeah, that late appointment with the satyr this morning threw everything off schedule. Hold down the fort while I take these people, would you?”

Lydia purses her lips thoughtfully. “When is Danny getting back?”

“He said he should be back by two.”

Lydia nods decisively and says, “That should be enough time for me to finish these pages.”

“You’re a goddess,” Stiles says as he leans out of her way when she tries to smack him on the shoulder. He’s laughing as he reaches out and grabs the sign-on sheet, scanning over it quickly before turning to the people in the waiting area.

“Smith?”

All three stand up and Stiles says, “You’re all together? Follow me and we can discuss your case.”

As they disappear down the hall, Lydia can hear the woman say, “Your receptionist is really awful.”

Lydia grins, pleased, as she hears Stiles’ cheerful reply, “We don’t have a receptionist.”

Five more pages of bastardized Latin and German – she could totally do this.

 

Danny comes into the office right as Lydia snaps the back cover of the bestiary shut. She looks at the clock – it’s two, so he’s right on time. Lydia looks down at her nails.

Danny comes around the bar and leans onto her shoulder. Lydia leans back minutely. She’s more tired than she thought she’d be.

His other hand comes around to cup around her shoulder and he squeezes softly. “You should go get us coffee. You look dead on your feet.”

She laughs hoarsely as Stiles once again stumbles into the front. He’s speaking more rapidly than normal and Lydia can tell right away that he’s a little annoyed with these people too. She’s seen that same exact look leveled at her a couple of times back in high school, she knows what she’s talking about. “As Stiles has already explained, I am not a receptionist,” she says, her voice muffled mostly into his side.

Lydia glances back at Stiles who is still talking to the Smiths. He nods once and then ushers them out of the hallway. “I will give you a call later and let you know if this case is something we can help you with.”

The woman speaks up again, “And on the subject of payment,” she leads.

“If we take your case, there’s a $500 retainer and it’s $50 per hour. Other services may have charges, but I’ll always let you know before I do anything. We take cash,” Stiles says firmly. Half a beat later, he adds, “We also take Visa.”

The woman looks disgruntled, like she heard Stiles tell the hedge witch she could pay in spells or favors, but she and her group leave quickly after that.

The bell jingles as they leave and Lydia leans forward over the bar and says, “I haven’t heard you request cash from any of our supernatural clients in a while.”

Stiles frowns and places his hands on top of the bar. “I don’t like them.”

Danny leans in too; interested to see where this is going.

“I just got a bad vibe from them. They want us to look for this girl, but they also don’t want to offer up any pertinent information about her or why they’re looking for her. Also, seriously? _Smith_? When you use a fake last name, you really shouldn’t be that obvious.”

“Okay, so they’re sketchy,” Danny says. “Those are the witches, right?”

Stiles nods.

Lydia stares intently at Stiles for a moment, trying to figure out what he’s not telling them. “You’ve worked cases for people you didn’t like before, though. Remember the emissary from the Laney pack?” Stiles winces and Lydia presses on. “What’s different this time?”

Stiles stares at the rune etched into the wood of the bar. It’s just a simple protection rune. The ones in his office, however, are an entirely different deal. “The woman, Caroline, totally set off all three of the runes in my office.” He lists them off on his fingers, “Truth, intentions, security.”

Danny whistles. “Shit. How many times has that happened before?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Never. I mean, Deaton and I tested the runes after we put them in but they’ve never been set off by a potential client before.”

“Interesting,” Lydia says, completely aware that she’s contributing absolutely nothing to their conversation. “Well, Danny wants coffee. Do you want anything from Brew? I need to stretch my legs.”

Stiles shakes his head, but says, “Wait, no yes. Yes, totally. Get me whatever tea they have on special today.”

Lydia runs her eyes over his face critically and asks, “Are you still on that tea thing?”

Stiles scrunches his nose at her and quietly mutters, “Shut up, I don’t even want to hear it from you, Miss Organic-Produce-Only.”

She sniffs and replies, “I refuse to apologize for quality.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “but why does it have to be so expensive? We’re all college students here, Lydia, none of us should be able to purchase organic pears.”

Lydia shrugs and holds out her hand, palm up.

Stiles grumbles and grunts but eventually relinquishes the debit card.

She smiles brightly as she tucks the card into her front pocket and cheerfully says, “Be right back!”

 

Lydia juggles the drink tray as she leaves the coffee shop. There hadn’t been a point to driving down the meager block just to get coffee, so she walked, heels clattering loudly on the sidewalk. It’s a pretty day – not too hot with a slight breeze – and she lets a content smile cross her face.

She’s eager to get back to see if Allison’s there yet or not. Stiles and Danny are fine – two of her best friends, and she’s still surprised she gets to say that now – but they aren’t girls. They aren’t Allison.

She makes it about halfway back to the office when someone steps right in front of her. “Excuse me,” Lydia trills. “Watch where you’re going!”

When she looks up after she steadies the tray and realizes it’s the woman from the office in her face, her two buddies close behind. Great.

Lydia stands up a bit straighter and brings her heels together. “Did you end up trying the coffee?” She asks, eyes narrowed. “Caroline, right?”

Caroline gives her a sarcastic little shake of the head and says, “Not this time.”

“Wow, okay,” Lydia says, not even bothering to filter her words into something nicer. “So you’ve just been waiting out here for someone to come out of the building?”

“Not just anyone,” Caroline sneers.

Lydia eyes the distance back to the office. The two men don’t seem to be paying much attention to the scene happening right in front of them, but Lydia wonders if they’ll try and stop her if she pushes past Caroline.

Before Lydia can calculate the distance, path, and speed she would need to use to get out of this situation, Caroline hisses something harsh under her breath. Lydia can just make out that the words are in Latin, but Caroline is speaking too low to make out anything specific.

Nothing happens right away. Caroline looks like she’s waiting for something to happen, but nothing continues to happen. Lydia cocks her head and purses her lips. She can read the context clues here. “Did you just try to hex me? Seriously?” She asks, incredulously.

Caroline snarls at her but her buddies come up and start to drag her away before she can really start anything.

Lydia loves the immunity that comes along with also being a banshee, but it’s an anticlimactic end. Still, the whole confrontation leaves her on edge, unsettled.

Lydia shakes her head and steps up her speed as she gets closer to the office. She’ll feel better once she’s inside.

 

“She _what_?” Stiles says, not quite shouting, but close. “What the hell?” he asks the room at large.

“I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but she was obviously surprised when it didn’t work. She was angry.”

Stiles fumes, arms crossed. “I’m going to call and tell them I can’t take their case. I was going to wait and talk it over with Allison, but Caroline sent out weird vibes for our entire meeting and then she threatened you. She’s crossed the line.”

A soft smile crosses Lydia’s face. She’s more shaken up about the encounter than she thought she should be, considering they’ve faced down people and monsters way worse than a disgruntled witch. She ducks her head, tears welling up for one brief, mortifying moment.

Stiles catches the movement and unfurls his arms. “Hey, hey,” he says, voice softening.

He wraps them around her and she lets out a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry, this is so stupid,” she says. “We’ve faced down things way more intimidating than an angry witch.”

Stiles just tugs her closer. “Respectfully, shut up. We’re not in a ‘what’s-scarier’ contest.”  
There’s a tinkling at the front door - the chime Melissa donated to the cause - and Allison is finally back.

Allison just has this sixth sense for when things have gone down, so the first thing out of her mouth is, “What happened?”

Stiles lets Lydia go so she can explain. He’s got a phone call to make and research to do.

Allison leads Lydia and sets her down in a chair. Allison watches over Lydia’s head as Stiles disappears into his office. Danny meets her eyes and shrugs. He turns back to the computer to give them the illusion of privacy.

“Start from the beginning,” she tells Lydia.

She pushes a tissue into Lydia’s hands and Lydia lets out a shaky laugh and pats beneath her eyes.

Lydia tells her the entire story from the encounter in the waiting room to the almost hex on the sidewalk.

When she’s done, tissue torn into little strips, Allison leans forward and envelopes her in a hug.

Lydia digs her fingers into Allison’s shoulder blades and holds on. Allison smells like citrus and comfort and pack, and Lydia may not be a werewolf but Allison’s scent makes her feel safe. She whispers into Allison’s shoulder, “I’m glad Stiles is turning them down. I had a bad feeling about that woman.”

Allison just hugs her closer.

Finally, Lydia pulls back. There’s still a quiver to her mouth, but she smiles and says, “Thanks. I think I’m going to go back to my apartment for a little bit.”

Allison says, “Okay. I’ll see you at dinner. Call if you need anything.”

Lydia nods and waves as she leaves the building.

 

Isaac bounces into a seat at the dining room table. He’s got a good sized box in his hands and Stiles watches from his place in the doorway as Isaac rips into it in the messiest way possible. Isaac flicks a grin in Stiles’ direction. Stiles pulls a chair out and sits next to him.

“Is that another care package from Ms. McCall?” Stiles asks.

Isaac’s smile goes slightly manic and he crows out a happy, “Yes!”

He reaches into the box and pulls out a tin container and two books. Stiles peers at the titles of the books while Isaac goes straight for the tin. The first book is called _7 Steps to Finding a Better You_. Ah, more self-help books, then. Melissa and Isaac both have a problem.

Stiles reaches out with one finger to push the other book into view.

Isaac looks down at the cookies he’s discovered in the tin and then up at Stiles and then down at the title _Start Caring for You!_ He tugs the cookies closer to himself and says, “These are mine.”

Clearly, he’s already taking the book’s advice to heart. Stiles attempts to stifle a snort but Isaac merely gives a prim sniff and bites into a cookie.

He moans.

Stiles takes that as his cue to leave. “Have, uh, fun,” he says as he all but runs into the kitchen.

Isaac hollers after him, “They’re double chocolate chip! You should be so jealous right now!”

 _What a little shit_ , Stiles thinks fondly to himself.

The kitchen smells good. Stiles doesn’t know what Boyd’s making exactly, but it smells freakin’ delicious.

There really isn’t anyway to be casually sneaky around a werewolf, but Stiles steels his resolve and vows to sneak a taste while Boyd’s back is turned. Boyd digs around in the refrigerator, making tiny unhappy noises under his breath, so Stiles takes exaggerated steps toward the stove. There’s something bubbling merrily in a pot and Stiles is going to taste it even if it burns the roof of his mouth.

He has a spoon in hand and is in front of the stove when Boyd says, “Don’t even think about it.”

Stiles bares his teeth in frustration at the pot. So _close_.

When he spins around, though, all signs of frustration are long gone. He grins at Boyd.

“You’ve got a weird face, Stilinski,” Boyd says. “Stop looking at me like that. You’re freaking me out, man. Also, I need a favor.”

“That’s sweet, Boyd, insult me and then ask me to do something for you. That’s totally a winning strategy there, dude.”

Boyd levels a stare at him and says, “I mean, if you want dinner to actually happen tonight, you’ll do something for me.”

Stiles straightens up. This is totally important – a life or death mission, one could say. Or not, you know, _really_. Dinner is still a pretty important event and Stiles would absolutely hate to be the reason it didn’t happen. “What can I do for you, my man?”

Boyd smiles smugly. He scribbles down something on a scrap of paper. “I need these things from the store. Do you mind grabbing them for me?”

Stiles takes the list and looks at it: _bread, garlic_ , - and, inexplicably – _yogurt_. “Why do you need yogurt?”

“ _Someone_ keeps eating the last of it.” Boyd huffs, and Stiles knows that particular tone of voice is reserved for their darling Scott.

“Do you like blueberry yogurt?” Stiles asks, and Boyd nods solidly once. “Cool, because my boy hates blueberries for some reason. I’ll be back in fifteen-ish minutes?”

Stiles waves his hand side to side in approximation. Time works in mysterious ways in the grocery store.

“Thanks, Stiles,” Boyd says earnestly.

Stiles waves a hand in acknowledgement. “I know, dude, I’m awesome.”

He hears a snort come from both the kitchen and the dining room. He blows a raspberry in response.

Stiles plucks his jacket off of the hooks by the front door and shoves his arms into the sleeves – or, well, a more accurate description would be that he tangles himself in them. When he finally slips free, he comes face to face with Derek. “Whoa, dude, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Derek ignores his question. “You’re going to the store?”

“Yeah, why? You need something?”

Derek shakes his head. “I’ll come with you.”

This makes Stiles pause. He squints at Derek and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’ll take me twenty minutes tops and I know you want to get your cuddle puddle on with your pack.”

“We don’t cuddle,” Derek says automatically. “You’re an important part of my pack.”

Stiles nods like Derek is being especially slow. “I know, Derek. This important part –“ he gestures at himself – “has got to go pick up another important part of the dinner.”

Derek reaches out and straightens the hoodie strings on Stiles’ jacket. He pulls the strings taut and then lets them spring back into Stiles’ face.

Stiles’ mouth drops open in surprise and then in mock outrage. “You – you’re mean. I’m leaving before you can be even meaner, seriously – _mean_.”

He’s laughing even as Derek shoves him out the door.

 

Lydia comes to with a shout and a throbbing in her head. When she reaches a hand up and presses it to her temple, it comes away sticky with blood. A scream bubbles up in her throat.

A hand shoots over her mouth before she can let it out.

Someone's whispering frantically into her ear as she thrashes and it takes her longer than she'd like to recognize who it is.

Stiles.

When she falls silent, Stiles presses his forehead against her cheek and whispers, "You've got to be quiet, okay, you've got to be quiet."

She nods as best as she can under his hand and he hesitantly pulls back. A whimper escapes her mouth but she stays quiet otherwise.

Lydia takes a moment to look at him. There's bruising around his cheek and it looks fresh. His bottom lip splits down the middle, blood smeared across his chin from where he's obviously tried to wipe it away. His eyes frighten her; they're sharp in a way she's unaccustomed to seeing, something dark lingers in the set of his shoulders.

She knows there isn't anything he wouldn't do for the people he cares about, but she's never seen it written so plainly across his face.

There's something wild in him. It's fitting, considering with whom they run.

Lydia looks over Stiles' shoulder. The room they're in barely counts as a storage closet and except for the two of them, it's bare.

Stiles reaches up and traces the edge of the cut on her forehead. Lydia winces and hisses lightly under her breath. He nods, almost frantically, and doesn't pull back from where he's pressed against her. He whispers, sentences staccato, "She's coming for us. She’ll know something’s up and she’ll come for us. They don't know that. We have got to be smart on our end. Okay?"

"Yes,” she says, sharp. “I know.”

Stiles falls back onto his heels with a soft thump. Lydia misses his warmth against her almost immediately. It's dark in the room and the floor is wet under her feet.

Lydia swings her gaze around the small room once more. She's coming for them - Allison is - and they have to be smart. If there's one thing that Lydia is good at, it's being smart.

Stiles flicks his eyes over to her as she straightens up, regains her composure. His teeth glint as he smiles.

If he can be a wild thing, Lydia thinks, so can she.

 

Allison pulls up to Beta House. It’s kind of a running joke in the pack that they call it the Beta House, even though Scott’s got his whole true alpha thing going on. It’s nice to have one of their alphas close, though, when Derek is away. Isaac is about ten times calmer, she’s noticed.

She throws her car into park and grabs the dessert Boyd asked her to bring. She’s never met someone who is so adamant about not cooking sweets like Boyd is. She’s seen him attempt to bake brownies a total of once, and that ended up with the entire mixing bowl overturned into the sink and Isaac with a mournful expression on his face as Boyd told him to, “Make your own brownies, okay?”

Allison pulls her key out and opens the door. Stiles’ jeep sits haphazardly in the driveway. Allison smiles to herself. Out of everyone who doesn’t actually live at Beta House, he’s usually always the first one to arrive on nights they have pack dinners. He can’t cook to save his life - to be fair, he can do some, uh, _creative_ things with ramen, but that doesn’t count – but he likes to watch Boyd move around the kitchen on nights when it’s Boyd’s turn to cook.

Allison hangs her jacket on a free hook next to the door and peers into the dining room. Isaac and Danny sit at the table. They’re reading from a book and Danny thumbs across a line and laughs. Isaac leans closer.

They would be cute if they weren’t so oblivious to each other, Allison thinks. She’s pretty sure the whole pack has been trying to nudge Danny and Isaac into situations straight out of romantic comedies and somehow neither of them has realized what the pack is up to and how they’re basically perfect for each other.

She finally comes into the dining room and she can see Boyd in the kitchen.

When Allison asks where everyone is, it’s understood that she’s really talking about Lydia and Stiles.

It’s Isaac who says, “Stiles was here earlier, but Boyd sent him on a run to the grocery like half an hour ago.”

“It doesn’t take that long to get to and from the grocery store, even if he’s walking,” she says back, frown deepening. “Have you heard from Lydia?”

Isaac shakes his head.

Allison turns around and suddenly Derek’s just _there_. “Have you heard from Stiles?” He asks. “Did he call you while you were driving or anything?”

She shakes her head.

Derek admits, “I can’t feel him.”

She knows what he’s talking about. He’s talking about the bond the ‘wolves have, the bond that none of the other humans really have, besides the bond she shares with Scott. Allison has her suspicions about what that means for Stiles and Derek, but has been hesitant to broach the topic with either of them.

Right now, she’s just glad it’s there in some capacity, even if it’s the lack of awareness that lets them know that something might be wrong.

Derek looks behind her and Allison turns around. Isaac, Boyd, Scott, Cora - all the ‘wolves’ eyes glow. She turns back and sees Derek’s eyes glowing red too.

“Okay,” Allison says. “So we’re going to need to figure out when the last time anyone saw Lydia. Stiles went to the grocery thirty minutes ago.”

Her pack is silent. The air in the room is charged.

“We’re going to need a plan,” she says, firmly.

Derek and Scott turn toward her at the same time. It’s eerie. Derek is the first to break. He nods. Allison lets out a breath of relief when she realizes they’re both going to defer to her in this situation. She sends them both a strained smile.

Allison turns to Boyd. “If Stiles suspected anything,” she says, pressing her key to the office into his hand, “it’ll be obvious for one of us to find. Make sure you touch the rune to the left of the door. It’s for security, and it should recognize you.”

Boyd gives one sharp nod and leaves the house silently.

“Stiles didn’t say if he was working on anything, but he didn’t get here until after five. Usually he’s here right after appointments end for the day.” Isaac says. “It’s probably been forty minutes since he left now.”

Scott says, “What about Lydia?”

Allison crosses her arms. “She was at the office this afternoon, and I’m pretty sure she was going to take a nap before she came over here. Someone call her and see if she answers.”

She sees Cora go for her phone out of the corner of her eye.

She wants to be surprised when it goes to Lydia’s voicemail, but she’s really not. Her stomach feels like lead.

 

In the movies, villains monologue. Exposition falls from their mouths like bile. Moviegoers are treated to the full plan in five, maybe ten minutes. Everything gets packaged in a neat little bundle.

In real life, Stiles finds, that doesn't actually happen. He wishes it would. It would make being kidnapped approximately ten times easier.

Don't get him wrong - Stiles totally has an idea of what's going on here. The goon who knocked him out was definitely present at the meeting with Caroline Smith. He's doubly glad he decided not to take the case. Who knows what sort of shit Caroline's gotten mixed up in?

Well, technically, Stiles does. He's sitting pretty on a lot of information. He's sitting in a very dingy, very gross cell, but he's sitting pretty all the same.

For instance, he knows that Caroline's last name isn't really Smith. Really, as far as fake names go, Smith wasn't a good one. What cemented it for Stiles, though, was that in their meeting, she always responded half a beat too late when he called her Ms. Smith.

Caroline is the only real witch of the group.

She went the way of brute force when she kidnapped the pair of them. Stiles doesn't know what that means exactly, but it feels important so he makes a mental note of it.

Beside him, Lydia's eyes trace every inch of the room they're locked in. She's undoubtedly running through calculations, comparing possible outcomes - doing what Lydia does best. In moments, she'll have a plan to tell him.

The metal door clangs open before she can.

Stiles grabs Lydia and pulls them into a corner. Caroline laughs.

"Tell me your plan," Stiles says flatly. It's worth a shot and if nothing else, it will buy them a little bit of time.

"Cute," Caroline says. "But that's not going to happen. Not yet, anyway."

Stiles stares at her and realizes he can see her panting. Her chest heaves like she's exerted herself. It's odd, considering the amount of power that she’s rumored to have.

"Come to taunt us, then?"

A dark expression crosses Caroline's face. "I knew you were a talker, but I didn't think you were stupid."

Lydia isn't paying either of them any attention, eyes still mapping the room, fingers tapping a dance against her thigh.

"Oh," Stiles says. "I'm not stupid in the least, Sauvageot."

Caroline steps forward before she can help herself. It takes her a visible moment to catch herself and settle back down. Her snarl curves into a smile. When she's calm, she looks like she could be someone's mother. She straightens out the cuffs of her sleeves. "I tried very hard to bury that name."

Stiles cocks his head. Lydia moves to sit behind him, placing her hands behind her and pressing them against the wall.

Stiles says, "I know. To be fair, it was surprisingly difficult to find any information on you. You buried it very deep."

"And yet, here you are. Do you think you have me all figured out?"

Stiles looks down at his hands. "Well, you know, that's what I do. I'm the researcher."

"I think we both know you're much more than that, though."

His sharp eyes hone in on her. "Do we," he says with no inflection.

Caroline nods. She would almost look serene if not for the tremors in her hands.

"You look tired," Stiles finally says.

"Yes," she replies. "I am. Exhausted, even. You wanted me to tell you my plan, Stiles. I'll tell you this: I'm not going to be tired for very much longer."

The door clatters closed behind her. When they're finally alone again, Lydia whispers, "She's surrounded the room in mountain ash."

Stiles can't help it; he laughs. He wonders if Caroline knows he could break the barrier with a scuff of his shoe as they take him out of the cell. He wonders if the building is surrounded as well. "I guess she's anticipating werewolves."

All Lydia says is, "Good."

Lydia doesn't know how long they wait in the cell until Caroline comes back. There's nothing to mark the passage of time, but it feels like an eternity.

They don't sit idly.

By the time Caroline comes back with her goons - the same men who came to the appointment with her - neither feel as helpless as they did before.

One of the goons grabs Stiles by the back of the neck. He twists Stiles' arm up behind his back and Stiles hisses, "Hey, watch it, man. I'm coming, Christ."

The other man grabs her. Lydia could fight back. She's been training with Allison. She steals a glance over to Stiles and he very minutely shakes his head. At least they're on the same page.

Instead of lowering her center of gravity, instead of dropping to the ground and bringing the man down with her, Lydia blinks as if she's dizzy. She lets the man drag her from the room with a hand around her upper arm.

The goons drag them into a large open area and Lydia is unsurprised to note they're in a warehouse.

"Put them over there, Marcus. Watch them," she stresses. "David, go get my supplies."

 

Allison answers her phone on the first ring. “What did you find?”

What she likes about Boyd is that he gets straight to the point quickly. He says, “Were you working a case about someone named ‘Sauvageot’? Because Stiles has that word circled in red and underlined a couple of times.”

Allison wracks her brain, but she can’t place the name.

She hears Boyd flipping through papers on his end and he says, “It’s in the same bunch of papers along with a name, uh - a Caroline Smith?”

Lydia’s words from earlier - _“I have a bad feeling about that woman.”_ \- echo in her head.

Allison swears under her breath and steals the attention of every werewolf in the room with her. She has them all on the phone, calling in all the favors the Stilinski-Argent Detective Agency is owed from clients they’ve worked cases for.

“I take it that name’s important,” Boyd says.

Allison closes her eyes and sucks in a quick breath before saying, “Bring everything from his desk, even if it doesn’t look important. We’ll see if we can figure out what he was working on and if he left us any clues.”

Boyd murmurs his assent and hangs up the phone with a click.

Allison rolls around the name he gave her in her head - _Sauvageot_. It sounds familiar, but she doesn’t know where she’s heard the name before. What she does know, however, is that Caroline Smith definitely is a witch, and that’s information they can use.

Danny sits in front of his computer so she asks, “You’ve got access to the bestiary database, don’t you?”

He nods, “Yeah, of course. What do you need?”

“It’s not much, but Caroline’s a witch and Boyd just said that the name ‘Sauvageot’ was circled in Stiles’ notes. I’m not sure how those two things are connected, but it’s all that we have at the moment.”

Danny’s already furiously typing away before she even finishes speaking.

Allison looks on at the others in the room. She hates that they’re just sitting still, but they have no solid leads.

Cora pushes a piece of paper at Allison and taps on the last name on the list. Everyone else still talks on the phone to their various contacts, so Allison dials the number next to a ‘Sarah Moore.’

Allison knows the Moore case. Stiles had an appointment with the woman earlier in the day. Someone was stealing ceremonial statues from her altars. Sarah said it was more of an annoyance than anything dangerous and they took the case because it was easy and Stiles took a shine to her. Allison was leaning toward a couple of teenagers in Sarah's neighborhood as being the culprits and she had been looking forward to putting a stop to their antics. It wasn't everyday Allison got to be the muscle and play the role of threatening private investigator and she could admit that she had been looking forward to putting the fear of God into some kids.

Although Sarah hadn't had enough money to pay them, Stiles said she could do some spell work around the office and their apartment to beef up the security. Deaton, who sent her their way in the first place, recommended Sarah for defensive work, apparently.

The phone rings twice before anyone picks up. “Hello?”

“This is Allison Argent from the Stilinski-Argent Detective Agency. I was wondering if I could speak with Sarah Moore.”

“This is Sarah,” she says warmly. “This isn’t a social call, is it?”

Allison laughs humorlessly. “No, I’m sorry, it’s not. I’m basically calling in any and every favor we have.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m pretty sure that Stiles and Lydia have been kidnapped.”

Sarah exhales over the line. “I just saw them earlier today. What happened?”

“I’m not sure. All we have at the moment is a name and I’m not even sure of its connections. Does the name ‘Sauvageot’ ring any bells?”

Sarah swears.

“What does that name mean?” Allison demands.

“It’s nothing good and the sooner I can get to you, the sooner I can explain.”

Allison nods even though Sarah can’t see her. She rattles off their current address and then warns, “It’s our pack’s house, so if you have a problem with werewolves, it won’t be a good idea to come.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. The only pack I know of as being in town is, hm,” she pauses. “the Hale pack? Oh, are you part of the Hale pack?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I would be honored to work with your pack.”

Allison releases a sigh. “Thank you.”

“Expect me soon,” Sarah says as she hangs up.

 

Marcus takes his job very seriously, Stiles notes. After throwing them in the corner, Marcus looks at Stiles and says, “If you try to run, I’m going to hurt her.”

“That’s good incentive,” Stiles says. He catches Lydia’s gaze. Marcus is a fool to discount Lydia in any way.

Stiles shifts his gaze to David when he comes back into the room. Caroline takes a jar from him and kneels down on the floor. She smears something dark red and goopy down onto the floor in broad, sweeping strokes.

From where Stiles sits, he can see the start of a large circle. Caroline draws large points coming off of the circle and it almost looks like a child’s painting of a sun.

Caroline dots the circumference of the circle with her own handprints and finishes up with a symbol almost like a shepherd's crook, dividing the circle into halves. The bottom of the crook cuts through the bottom of the circle and she stands up, settles into the spot it marks.

“Bring him,” Caroline says, gesturing to the middle of the circle she’s drawn. “It’s time.”

Marcus takes great pleasure in dragging Stiles away from Lydia. He binds Stiles’ hands in front of his body and pushes him into the circle.

He pushes too hard, of course, and Stiles falls to his knees, very nearly tipping all the way over. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least, but Stiles has the inkling that it’s about to get a lot worse.

“Imagine my surprise,” Caroline starts, “when I walk into a detective agency and find the very thing I’d been searching for.”

Stiles supposes they’re finally getting to the explanation part. That’s good. That buys them a bit of time and Stiles figures he can use that extra time to wriggle out of the rope.

“You don’t even realize how much power you can handle, do you? The girl I was looking for would have been alright, something to get me by until I found the next conduit, but you - you could push my power up to the next level.”

“Thanks, lady,” Stiles says, twisting his wrists ever so slightly beneath the ropes. “But I’m really not interested.”

“You planing on mouthing off until the end?” Caroline asks, as she raises her hands. “Because that’s going to get old real fast.”

“Wouldn’t be as fun if I didn’t.”

She starts chanting out loud, voice steady, and Lydia perks up. She translates the Latin as she hears it and realizes what Caroline plans to do.

Lydia pushes herself up to her feet, ignoring Marcus and David when they lurch toward her. “If you don’t stop,” she says to Caroline, “I’m going to scream.”

Caroline laughs at her as the edges of the circle begin to glow a bright blue. “Go ahead, scream.”

The blue glow gets brighter and brighter until they abruptly fizzle out as quickly as they lit up.

“I’m serious,” Lydia says again. “I’ll scream.”

Caroline whirls around, finally connecting the dots. “It’s you! You’re the one screwing with my magic.”

“Guilty,” Lydia states.

Marcus and David both lunge for her at the same time. Lydia opens her mouth and wails.

 

The front door bangs open as Boyd comes back. Cora meets him and takes half of what he’s carrying. They start to spread the papers over the dining room table.

Derek is still on the phone and he holds up a thumb when Allison cocks an eyebrow at him. She’s not sure who he’s talking to, but she’s pleased all the same. She’s relieved that all the favors they’re calling in are coming through.

Isaac hangs up the phone and says, “The satyrs are in and they said they’re bringing something with them.”

Allison whips around to look at him. “Did they say what it is?”

“Nope,” Isaac shakes his head. “Just that it’s big.”

“Who else have we got?” Allison asks.

“Derek’s calling someone named Marty.”

“Trickster,” Allison says. “He and Stiles got along famously.”

Isaac snorts. “That’s not surprising.”

Scott comes in from the kitchen. “When did you guys do a case for sirens?”

“A couple months ago, I think?” Allison answers. In all honesty, she’s surprised that Laurel and Violet have agreed to help them out. Their case didn’t really pan out the way either of them had hoped and neither were fans of the Stilinski charm. “That was a weird case.”

Scott’s about to say something else, but Danny interrupts him. “I’ve got something and it’s not good.”

Derek stand behind him, brows creased as he mutters on the phone. His mouth turns into a scowl as he disappears into the kitchen. Scott says, “I’ve got him.”

Allison rushes to Danny’s side. “What’s up?”

“Sauvageot’s a family name.” He points to a passage on the computer. “This is from the updated files your dad sent us. All it says is that they hunt sparks. Whatever that means.”

Allison can feel the blood drain from her face. Half a second later, Scott rushes back into the dining room. “Deaton said - the night of the rave, Deaton said that Stiles needed to be the spark.”

“Stiles refreshes the runes,” Allison says, the realization dawning on her. “I can’t do that. Deaton and Stiles are the only ones who can refresh the runes.”

A crack sounds in the middle of the room, followed by a bright flash of light. After Allison lowers her arm and blinks a couple of times, Sarah stands in the middle of the living room, five women fanned out behind her. “I brought some friends.”

“I thought you were a hedge witch,” Allison says, not unkindly. “Don’t hedge witches usually work alone?”

Sarah nods. “Usually. However, when taking on someone like Caroline Sauvageot, it’s best to have a strong power base behind you.”

Derek steps up behind Allison and Sarah nods respectfully at him. Allison says, “Tell us everything.”

Sarah smiles.

The witches ask for something that belongs to either Stiles or Lydia as Sarah explains what she knows about the Sauvegeot family. “You’ve got witches, like us,” she gestures at the women in her coven, “and then you’ve got the spark. The spark isn’t a person, it’s not something someone can be. The spark is, in essence, magical energy. What a _person_ can be is a conduit.”

Allison keeps on eye on one of the other witches, Bethany, who hovers around Derek. To Sarah, she asks, “So Stiles is a conduit?”

Sarah nods. “Witches can manipulate the spark. It’s how we do magic. Conduits, on the other hand, are like batteries.”

“Is that why Stiles can recharge the runes around our office?”

“Yeah, exactly. Stiles didn’t carve the runes, I’m assuming. Who did?”

Scott, who has steadily been inching closer, answers for her. “Deaton.”

Sarah looks up at Scott. “That makes sense. Deaton casts the spell by carving the runes and Stiles is able to put magic into the runes by channeling the spark. Stiles can’t do magic, but he can direct the flow.”

“What does this have to do with what’s going on?” Scott asks.

“You know how the Argents used to be known for hunting werewolves?”

Scott looks offended on Allison’s behalf, but Allison nods to tell her to keep explaining.

Sarah smiles gratefully. “The Sauvageots are a family of witches who are known for hunting down conduits. There’s a spell they use to pull the spark from the environment, through the conduit, and into their body of power. How strong is Stiles? How much power do you think someone could channel through him?”

Sarah looks down at her hands and bites her lip. “Deaton told me something in confidence - the nemeton. He said some of you were connected to the nemeton.”

Scott reaches down and grips Allison’s hand in his. “The nemeton has been healing since we were in high school. Our connection to it isn’t dark anymore.”

Sarah looks him in the eyes. “How much power do you think Caroline could pull through Stiles with the connection he has to the nemeton?”

Scott looks stricken and Allison clutches his hand tighter. This could get really bad.

Derek looks increasingly frustrated. He’s growling lowly, just enough to set the other ‘wolves on edge. He stands there tense, fists clenched, and Allison knows he needs something to do. They have nothing to do at the moment. Allison is right there with him.

Bethany runs her hands in the air in front of Derek and he watches her warily. Bethany finally says, “Sarah, we don’t need an item of theirs. There’s a bond here. It’s not working at one-hundred percent, but it’s there.”

“You can use that?” Derek asks, stunned.

“We can get a ballpark location from that. It will give us a narrower range since the bond goes both ways.”

Derek resolutely says, “Do it.”

Allison gets ready to text the satyrs, sirens, and trickster the location they’ll be meeting. The coven cast the spell, using the bond between Derek and Stiles as an anchor. Within moments, they have an idea of the area where Stiles and Lydia are being held.

“That wasn’t as flashy as I was expecting,” Cora says as they make their way to the cars.

One of the witches, Gina, smiles enigmatically as she slides into the back of Allison’s car. “Flashy witches are often trying to hide a lack of talent.”

Allison pulls out of the driveway with their destination in mind. Derek drives the SUV behind her, loaded up with pack and witches.

The drive to the warehouse district doesn’t take as long as she thinks it should, and for that she’s grateful.

She parks in the agreed meeting spot and is glad to see that some of their favors paid off. The satyrs are waiting in the parking lot, jackets pulled tight around their faces, hooves stamping impatiently on the pavement.

One of the satyrs is trying to flirt with Laurel and Violet. He doesn’t seem to be having any luck.

Allison gets out of the car and says, “I thought you said you were bringing something big, Roy.”

The satyr flirting with Laurel and Violet says, “Stinky likes to play hide and seek. Don’t worry; he’ll come when we call.”

“What is Stinky?” Cora asks.

Roy grins and touches his left horn, a nervous gesture. “Intimidating.”

Laurel saunters over to Allison, while Violet hands out earplugs. “You’re lucky we haven’t eaten in a while,” she says with a voice straight out of the Valley. “We’ll lure whoever comes out but after that we’re gone.”

Violet finishes handing out the earplugs and says, “I just had my nails done.”

Derek looks like he’s about to say something nasty. Allison is ready to break them up when a shrill scream rises out of nothing.

The scream echoes, but each ‘wolf swivels in the direction the sound is coming from. “That’s Lydia,” Derek growls.

“You didn’t say you had a banshee,” a man says as he skulks out of the shadows. He has an accent no one can place. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his suit jacket. “This makes things interesting.”

“Marty,” Allison greets. “Glad you could join us.”

“Oh, you know, didn’t want to miss the party.” He gestures with a flourish in the direction Lydia’s scream came from. “Well, onwards.”

A van is parked outside the nondescript warehouse to which Lydia’s howling scream leads them. Derek lifts his head and scents the place. Allison pulls out her bow when he says he can smell blood.

“Earplugs, please,” Laurel asks. Violet watches them with sharp eyes as everyone puts them in and they start singing immediately after. Their mouths move around vowels and sounds but Allison can’t hear a thing.

After about five minutes, give or take, two men come stumbling out of the warehouse, eyes glazed and gait shuffled. Laurel smirks and beckons them closer. Violet reaches into one of the men’s pockets and pulls out a set of keys.

Between the two of them, they manage to corral the men in the back of their own van. Violet follows the men and slams the back doors shut. Laurel stops singing as soon as she slips into the driver’s seat of the truck and motions for Allison to take her earplugs out. “Thanks for dinner,” she says, voice sultry, and laughs, pulling out onto the road and leaving the warehouse and the group in the dust.

As soon as they screech out, everyone tugs out their earplugs.

“We need a way in,” Allison says, looking for doors that could provide cover as well.

Roy steps up. “Let me.”

He whistles through his teeth, something lilting with more notes than Allison realized someone could whistle.

Everyone stiffens when they hear rumbling footsteps. Cora turns around first and her shocked breath in spurns everyone into action.

“Meet Stinky,” Roy says with a grin.

Stinky lumbers out from between two tall buildings.

“You have an ogre,” Scott says flatly.

Russell steps up from behind Roy. “Don’t be rude,” he grins. “You won’t like him when he’s angry.”

Russell points to one of the warehouse walls. Roy begins to whistle again and the last satyr, Ross, joins in with different notes. Russell says, “Stinky, attack.”

Stinky tears through the wall as if it were made of paper.

As metal and glass and brick rain down, Allison thinks, ‘Well, that’s one way to do it.’

She’s surprised, however, that no one inside the warehouse seems to notice anything. She looks around wildly and Marty bumps his chin up at her, hands held up in the air. “I can hold the illusion long enough to get you all inside. No one inside should realize that the wall’s come down yet.”

It’s Isaac who asks, “How is your magic working this close to Lydia?”

“I’m a trickster god, darling. I only need to believe in myself.” Marty flashes Isaac a wide smile, full of teeth. “Now get in there before this whole thing comes toppling down.”

The ‘wolves fan out behind Allison. Allison takes point, front and center, and stalks past the ogre silently. The ‘wolves follow until - “Mountain ash,” Derek growls.

Sarah rushes up and says, “We can break this, but it’s going to take some time.”

Allison looks back. “How much time?”

They’re running out of time and everyone knows it.

Sarah waves her on ahead. “Just a few minutes. You go ahead and we’ll catch up.”

Scott meets Allison’s eyes before she turns around. He says, “Save them.”

Allison teeth glint. She looks wild as she disappears into the dark of the warehouse.

The witches start to chant as soon as Allison crosses the line of mountain ash. Sarah looks up when she realizes the spell doesn’t work. “We need to get Lydia out of there.”

Gina and Bethany break from the line and follow Allison’s path.

The witches who are left begin to chant again.

 

Allison winds through the corridors until she spills out into the main room of the warehouse. Lydia lies unconscious - or Allison really hopes she’s only unconscious - in a corner. Caroline’s back is to Allison and Stiles gives no indication that he sees Allison.

Caroline says something that Allison can’t hear and raises her hands up.

Before she can get a chance to start her spell, Allison steadies her arrow and then lets it fly. It clips Caroline in the shoulder and it’s enough to break her concentration. She whirls around and snarls in Allison’s direction.

Allison notches another arrow and gets ready to shoot Caroline again when Stiles sheds the ropes around his wrists and aims a punch in Caroline’s direction. It lands when she turns around to face him, prompted by Stiles’, “Hey, mega bitch!”

Caroline grabs wildly at Stiles and they start to brawl in the middle of the circle. Allison tries to get in a shot, but Stiles rolls on top of Caroline and punches her twice in succession in the face. Allison can’t get a clear shot.

Gina and Bethany run into the room moments later. “Are you clear?” Allison shouts.

“We gotta get Lydia out. She’s canceling out any magic we try to cast.”

They slip by her without wasting any time and run to Lydia. If Lydia’s still canceling out the magic, then that’s a good sign - it means she’s still alive. Allison hangs onto that thought as tightly as she can.

Stiles still has Caroline occupied. She knows he’s buying them time to get Lydia out of there, but she doesn’t know how long it’s going to last. Allison has sparred enough with Stiles to be able to pick up on the signs that he’s getting tired.

Gina picks Lydia up in a fireman’s carry and Bethany leads the way out of the warehouse. Allison provides them with cover.

As Lydia gets farther and farther away, the circle begins to glow a bright blue. Caroline cackles and gets up to her feet, pulling free from Stiles. She’s got him by the shoulders and she pulls him up as she stands up and then bashes him back down.

Allison wants to puke as she sees and hears his head bounce off the concrete.

Caroline raises her hand up in Allison’s direction and Allison pushes against the magical barrier, but she can’t get by no matter how hard she tries.

Caroline raises her hands up to the circle where Stiles slumps over, prone. To Allison, she says, “Thanks for moving the banshee. I totally owe you one.”

She starts chanting again.

Allison feels sick but she steels her resolve. She can feel Scott, still at the mouth of the warehouse, but Stiles starts to shake, seizing, and she knows that they won’t get there in time.

The blue glow rises up and surrounds Stiles. She watches helplessly as Stiles’ eyes roll back in his head.

Caroline is going to kill Stiles.

Allison pounds against the invisible barrier. She screams loudly, trying to distract Caroline in whatever way she still can.

Stiles convulses on the ground.

Sarah pushes Allison out of the way and hits the barrier. She’s got runes drawn on her arms and she breaks through the barrier, shattering it like glass. “Get Sauvageot!” Sarah screams and Allison notches her arrow again.

The warehouse crumbles around them as Marty’s illusion falls.

Caroline Sauvageot seems to realize she’s in a no-win scenario as all the werewolves pile into the room, all shifted to their beta forms.

She yells in frustration, breaking her own spell, and whips around. “I’m going to kill you all!”

Derek and Scott both rush toward her but she lifts her hands up to the ceiling quickly and she shouts, “ _Flagrātum_!”

Allison lets her arrow fly and it finds its home in Caroline’s throat. Caroline falls backwards, gurgling wetly around the blood welling up in her throat.

Flames engulf the warehouse.

 

The warehouse burns behind them. Derek furtively glances between the raging flames and his pack - his pack, not unharmed but whole. Those who helped with the rescue mill about, but Derek pays them no mind. He’s grateful, sure - thankful - but that’s not the most important thing right now.

Boyd comes up with Stiles cradled in his arms. Derek whines. He ducks his head when he realizes he’s caught the gaze of every single member of his pack.

Stiles is okay, he knows.

The knowledge doesn’t curb his anxiety in any way.

Boyd kneels and lowers Stiles to the ground. Derek greedily watches the way his chest rises and falls.

There’s blood smeared across his face, over the knuckles of his hands, back across his forearms. Boyd runs a hand across Stiles’ forehead, half to sooth, half to clean what he can. He stands up eventually and gives Derek some room.

Derek falls to his knees next to Stiles. He can feel a gaze on him and when he looks up, Scott stares at him over Allison’s head. He nods once before turning back to Allison. He palms the back of her head and Derek turns away.

Derek isn’t looking for permission, but it doesn’t hurt to have his pack behind him.

When he looks back down at Stiles, Stiles’ eyes are open. Nothing escapes his mouth, but he watches Derek, eyes dark. His hand slips up and grips around Derek’s wrist.

“Hey,” Derek says. His eyes flit from injury to injury: the split bottom lip, the bruising across his face, a scrape that runs up the back of Stiles’ arm, the gash on his temple where his forehead bounced against the concrete. His mouth curls into a snarl as he catalogues each spot, each place that makes Stiles wince and groan. He files the information away, thinks, ‘ _No one is ever going to hurt you again_.’

Stiles squeezes his wrist like he can hear what Derek is thinking. Maybe he can, maybe Stiles can see it written across his face. Derek has never been more open than when he’s with Stiles.

Stiles wets his lips, flinches at the taste of blood in his mouth, and his mouth hangs open for one long moment before he decides what to say. It’s: “Kiss me.”

Derek leans down and presses his closed lips to Stiles’. Stiles smells like the magic he pushed through his body, smells like lightning right after a strike, smells like ashes, but Stiles is so, so _alive_.

Derek parts his lips and thinks, ‘ _You could have died and I would never get to do this_.’

Stiles presses up into the kiss, tangles his other hand in the hair at the nape of Derek’s neck, tugs him closer.

Derek stops thinking about hypotheticals. There’s one thing he knows for sure.

He’s finished waiting.

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> [*](http://deerie.tumblr.com/)


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